that single thought

sucked towards

a sapphire of absorption

I heard the click or felt it or knew it or smelt it..

a satisfying sound

and then the old gates

swinging slowly in the dark

upon a perfumed sea

but it is a long way down and who knows what is over there

I didn’t go

and so then

coats and coats of stories like licks

of paint or tongue

pages of ineligible nonsense

speculative frustration



life is fiction


with all that gratuitous embroidery

well, it took on a build of castle proportions!

……. looking back now

I clear a way

like a very small snail in rubble

digging and digging

until I find it




hovering back there

clinging and lonely

worshipping a barnacle

worth the while

note to self: how can a human being float across a space the size of one breath and fall through a gateway only as big as an iris …?


love-mad bees

I am pit deep

in circulating fire

an insignificant tenant

in a cave

of rouge hum

I am riding my snake

made of love-mad bees

a surging silver ringlet

of waving infintisum



glowing and pouring

working against gravity like

perfectly fresh

overflowing salmon


Sun Perfume

If you don’t think this life is tortuously beautiful then you’re not really here

To make your body smell like sunshine

one cup of pure soap flakes

a palm sized sensation of baby skin

a breath of flawless thought

a tongue of deep cave water

a fold of pure truth

a shiver of invisible touch

coat your skin in oil of sun




each wave like an angel

falling over lips

for m e more a more



the sound of sky the smell of sun the taste of open sea

Pablo Says

” Loving is a journey with water and with stars, with smothered air and abrupt storms of flour. Loving is a clash of lightning bolts and two bodies defeated by a single drop of honey.’ Neruda

I swoon and arch my neck reaching for his nektar

Loving is a journey of the heroes kind

epiphany the only victory and poetry for proof

sinking into deeper vulnerability through points of light

confabulated or originated

loving bathes me in my own humility slitting my throat and opening my legs.

true voice is true love

a humming baritone amongst the scented petals

love is my tongue sliding through the mud

always the mud rich and flavoursome

inhaling rain and feeling the sting

Immersed in the music of invisible sensation

rolling throughly underneath my naked airs

and wet

sliding from the womb of an old paradigm

undoing into magic through gateways of vibration

left is right and right is left and love is a syllable that reverberates

boiling water

bringing your chest closer

slicing and levitating monoliths

Prose Poultice

hot rocks and books soothe me

their awareness somewhat circular

contained and expansive

felting through my skin

this fragrant prose poultice warming my naked heart

flicking fingertips

page by raw page 

peeling back 

textured and curly

earthy and aromatic

dust and water

new and old like paperbark 

the stories imagine my bare ocre

overwhelmed with spearheaded life


splicing the core

seeds spill

serving to whet an appetite 

A poem for those who curl up with books instead of lovers on valentines day ~ x Arna

today it’s about bees

or is it about poison?


mad making

arsenic accumulation



loopy lou


is it about misfiration and never repletion

is it about my own….wanton disregardiosion…..

a bred terror of heavy metal intoxicablation

a hive in my mind my mind in the hive


and they came to me a three bee formation

I buzzed in my heart and they sang to me

a golden prayer


the sharp toothy beastulous nipping

and dragging and forcing


and feeding…


I COULD sit in the middle

here I would be happy

no celestial buzzing

no acid screeching….

just me

with a bee

drinking tea

Becoming Gravity

I am heavy

an enormous beast

a megalith

made of mud

a wide basket of stony faces



a shape


a fluctuating


salty water bag

barely contained





for perforation




and so it was

becoming gravity

she flooded

blushed and waved


without shame

a merciless welcoming puddle


to the sea

breakfast friend

she ate pastry from my fingertips

watching me


like a small man

pacing pecking tasting the air

my lips tilted

upward and light

like a feather-feeling

sunshine shifted across her glossy back

warming my chest

deep into the hollow there

I could have caught her shadow with my sugared hands

but I thought it nicer to lock with her

to share a sharp black gaze

and be thankful for the company



pressing in-formation

causing her throat to swell and tighten

building desire

like cities

digging tunnels

too deeply


into her earth

creating openings

and avalanches

minute tragedies in her stomach

leaving little flags where maybe something lies buried

tragedy that has nowhere else to go…

eat it or fuck it

the catch cry as armies march in

spiralling down

screwing through

her well….meant vows

taking them down


as though somehow in opposition

to her own will


set up

take it down

like dominoes


black and white photos lending sentiment to the horror of endings

it hurts

she curls

sucking her fingers

confused … pleasure or pain


with it’s love and death shit

a tragedy

swinging gaily in her stomach


not special

just because it has nowhere else to go

Thankyou Trent Lewin for your poetic and inspiring words from ‘Promise: The Ending’

time perfume

my hands are pungent

cupping my face

I inhale

golden ochre fills me

my heart

a newly forming bowl on the wheel

moistened now by the rich echo of a smell I can taste

forming still…

I lick my hand and drive my time machine

back to 1978

a hot summer with brittle trees against a friendly blue sky

a far lighter blue than that of the bike I couldn’t ride

the water is almost gone and toads langor there

toxic and lumpy and lazy with peace

but OH they make us squeal

why do my hands feed to me that day now?

all clean and grown

I do langor like a toad though

breathing through nostrils that flare over thick lips of clay

memories move under my nails

like watercolour

reminding me of my birthday watch


and the way Harriet snapped at the black mongrel

who DARED poke his nose beneath her tail….

maybe that’s when I dropped my watch

in the mud

by the dam

under grass

taller than me

Silver Poetry

All That Glitters Is Not Gold

Unfettered BS

it is all just bullshit anyway.....


Your Brain is a Radio that Does What its Told

Post Scriptum Poets

Haikus Senryus and Tankas about anything and everything

InkBlots and IceBergs

musings on life | bits of psychology | attempts at poetry

This and That

In other countries individuals go to jail and/or die for weblogging. While the bulk of this country makes the internet an extention of T.V.


Scripting the desires that are soul deep

Cosmos Reflection

poetry that speaks to you

Africa Zwelibanzi

The Poetry Monarch.

Jeffrey Pillow

Life, death, and everything in between

Purple Haze

Darkness, delusion, smeared with a stick of butter and laughter. Words collide, they bring forth death!

The Lonely Author

Pain goes in, love comes out.

The Realm

well, come on in. bite. chew. spit.

SouL SpeakS

He started Writing, The paper started speaking...

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